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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24548011">You see, life is funny like that</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrie_Wilde/pseuds/Morrie_Wilde'>Morrie_Wilde</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consider this fic as " a thing ", Dark Comedy, Experimental Style, Hurt, It's a "thing", M/M, Modern Era, One Shot, Plot Twists, The thing is : it's kinda sad but funny but not angsty or fluffy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:01:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24548011</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrie_Wilde/pseuds/Morrie_Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You see, life is funny like that. You carry on your day as if it was something new and exciting when really, it is always the same boring routine. You walk to the underground station, you try to fit in an overcrowded carriage, you get out, you go to work. Maybe you’ll have a flapjack later on, you’re still undecided. At five, you do the same journey back to your miserable flat. And then, you turn on the telly, drink one too many cider, and die in bed, waiting for an other day to start. </p><p>Please note : I have no clue as to how to describe this one shot. All I know is that it's not what you expect.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You see, life is funny like that</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's Thursday night, or Friday morning. I'm fast asleep when I suddenly wake up at 3am, obssessed with writing this fic down.<br/>*rolls a cigarette*<br/>What has my life become?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>You see, life is funny like that... </strong>
</p><p>...You carry on your day as if it was something new and exciting when really, it is always the same boring routine. You walk to the underground station, you try to fit in an overcrowded carriage, you get out, you go to work. Maybe you’ll have a flapjack later on, you’re still undecided. At five, you do the same journey back to your miserable flat. And then, you turn on the telly, drink one too many cider, and die in bed, waiting for an other day to start. </p><p>Really, life is simple. Life is easy. </p><p>And the next morning, you do the same again. You walk to the underground station, you get into an overcrowded carriage. You mind the gap. You can do this journey with your eyes closed. But why would you? It would be ridiculous now, wouldn’t it? And you get out, you emerge back in the streets. An other day. The same as yesterday. The same as tomorrow. </p><p>Have you thought about buying more milk on your way back? The soy one obviously. It is said to be healthier. Or less healthy. What do they say? It doesn’t matter anyway. Oh, you almost had a heart attack there didn’t you? Yeah, your keys are in your left pocket today. So don’t worry, you can still enter your shithole to get shitfaced. </p><p>And the next day. Oh you know the drill. Tube. Work. Shithole. </p><p>Life is funny like that. It can be described in three little words. Three little ideas. Far from you to pretend to be omniscient. No, of course not. But if life had to be distilled to its pure elemental essence, well... It would smell like old piss, sanitized offices and shit. The holy trinity of the con man. Oh, that’s what you are. Don’t be shocked my dear. </p><p>“Good evening!” </p><p>“Good evening Misses Bridmale.” </p><p>Good evening indeed. Oh don’t roll your eyes. The old lady, whose only purpose is to look after the car park despite not having a car herself, is a really nice neighbour of yours. She may stink of cheap cologne and talk to her late husband at night, but you can’t hate her for it. She is a window to what the future holds for you : awful perfume and dead people. It is quite endearing really.  </p><p>You’re right. Pour yourself a glass to forget. Oh the irony : drinking to forget yet never forgetting to drink. You’re quite sad really. Oh don’t frown now, you know what I meant. </p><p>“No I don’t.” </p><p>Oh, I see. For you to need liquid courage to even acknowledge me is utterly heart-breaking. And now you turn on the telly, obviously. Channels after channels, there is really nothing good to watch nowadays. You should try to watch a documentary : a bit of knowledge never hurt anyone, especially not you. Don’t you huff at me young man! This is quite rude. And now you’re pouting. Great. Shall you not be on your way to bed already? Such a draining routine you have, it would be a shame to break it. Sure, angrily slamming your glass on the table will make everything better. And slamming the door. And slamming the window shut. You really need to stop slamming inanimate objects for everybody's sake. Ah. The old if-I-bury-my-head-in-the-pillow-it-would-all-go-away trick. A classic. A good classic. Although you could be more dramatic. Try screaming a bit. Just to see if you can make the scene even more ghastly. </p><p>And it's a new day. Which day of the week is it? Do you even keep track of that? </p><p>“Friday.” </p><p>Wow, snappy. Someone needs his coffee. Oopsie, no milk. Why do you look upset? You are the one to blame for that. Oh sure, storm out of your flat. Very mature. </p><p>Underground time. Ah, the soft fragrance of piss and sweat is such a perfect breakfast. If you look on your left, you’ll see the still drunk ladette who has probably forgotten her own name. If you look on your right, you'll see a lad who looks so dead inside that no-one would be surprised if he ends up on the front page of tomorrow's paper for the murder of his whole family. And the dog. Obviously he would kill the dog. Look at him. As for the murder weapon, I see a hammer. Or something heavy. Definitely to much of a wimp to use a gun. Guns go boom quite loudly. Although, by using a gun, he can startle the dog, which would bark and in panic, he would kill the dog. It’s all coming together. </p><p>Life is funny like that. It can all end right here, right now. But I wish for you it would not. Not in those dreadful offices. What is it you do for a living? Ok: let me rephrase this, my bad. What is it you do for a deathing? Don’t pretend, I saw you smirking at that comment. You won’t tell, isn’t it? You were always a party killer. Oh well, it involves numbers, you know that for sure. And there’s a twenty minute lunch break, so it’s not all bad. </p><p>“I don’t eat.” </p><p>Of course you don’t. What for anyway? I might point out though: talking to me in your workplace might get you some weird looks. Or more than usual, that is. Not that you look bad mind you. But the scruffy look, empty blue eyes, and overall please-kill-me attitude is an eye-catcher.</p><p>“Just shut up.” </p><p>You are really talkative today, mister I-need-a-drink-to-say-a-single-word. I am being unfair here, you said three words yesterday. Less than today though, but hopefully more than tomorrow. Yes, I am asking you to shut up. </p><p>“I asked you first.” </p><p>Ah. Ah. Ah. Prat. <br/>
Don’t hide it, the smile was there. You can’t deny it. You like to be called out. A repressed desire for submissive foreplay perhaps? Oh now you’re just plain blushing. Not here, would you. Have some decency. Come on, choppy choppy, go back to your numbers and ... numbers. </p><p>And it’s shit time. Or shall I say “time to go home” to be more correct. Nah. You don’t like it when I’m proper. And...here goes your luck : literally stepping onto dog poo. You know, it was meant to be an imagery, you did not have to demonstrate the actual shit fest that is your life. Oh yeah, sure : run. But you can’t run away for ever. </p><p>The great British bake off? Is it really why you ran for? No! Don’t change the channel. Ok fine. </p><p>“What is wrong with you?” </p><p>As if there was nothing wrong with you. I could make a list, and I’m glad I’ve got the eternity to do so. You don’t know how to place the plates in the dishwasher, never rinse the bathtub, can’t close a pack of biscuits properly which leaves us with soggy crumbly shite. You always iron your shirt and yet, you can’t hang your jacket even if your life depended on it. This is a sofa, not a wardrobe. You- </p><p>“Shut up.” </p><p>What did we say about putting the feet on the table? It’s a no-no. And god, put down this can would you! You’re not a bloody alcoholic. And... it’s empty. Well, don’t grab an other one! Oh lord. And, it’s empty. You have a real problem. Where are you going? To take a piss. Yeah. Obviously. Now come back. I miss you. </p><p>“SHUT UP!” </p><p>You only know how to say that. Shut up here, shut up there. Like damn boy, update this vocabulary of yours. Why are you pacing? What now? Oh no, you are breaking your routine. Nothing goods comes out from breaking your routine. Not my words. But you know it. You know it damn well. No! Not the third can! </p><p>“Liquid courage my arse.” </p><p>Oi! Watch your mouth. Now, put it down, go to your room, and sleep. Yes, that’s an order. </p><p>Who could it  be knocking at your door on a Friday night? Well, come on, open the damn door. Oh? Flowers! Beautiful flowers even. </p><p>“Delivery for Mr Pendragon?” </p><p>“Thanks.” </p><p>Surely, they need water. Don’t leave them on the table. They'll get sad. That is, if flowers have emotions. Truth being, a dandelion probably has more emotions than you Arthur. The almighty Arthur Pendragon. Even your name is posh. Posh. Posh. Poshity posh. Beautiful, yes, but posh. Although, the flowers might be slightly more beautiful than you... one thing is for sure : those roses have less thorns than you. And here you go with the eyeroll again. </p><p>“You're rumbling again. Always rumbling. Never shutting up.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Fine. Rumble away. Idiot.” </p><p>Oh, my silence hurts me more than it hurts you, believe me. Gonna finish the pack, kill the fourth can? You don’t like unfinished business. You are going to drink it. That’s it. But please, recycle the cans when you are done. You always forget. And the bins are literally next to each other? I really think you are not even trying. Not like you ever really tried in general. </p><p>You see, life is funny like that. Every thing is handed to you on a silver platter and you dare being unhappy about it. Those flowers? A really nice gesture if you want my opinion. If you had a bit of decency, you would put them in a vase. But no, you are gonna let them die there. Why does it matter? An other bouquet is surely already on its way. </p><p>“I can’t touch the flowers.”</p><p>What kind of dramatic behaviour is that? It’s just flowers. </p><p>“Merlin.”</p><p>Oh. Has it been a year already? I forgot, or did not want to remember. Because you see Arthur : <em>Death is funny like that. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Now, I would describe this as experimental writing for lack of a better word.<br/>Seriously don't know where that came from.<br/>So yeah, the whole fic is a dialogue...!<br/>But I hope you enjoyed this weird piece of my mind !<br/>See you next time! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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